Chapter 1

"What? You weren't going to save me any pie?"

"Sara!" her mother exclaimed, putting down her fork. "How're you feeling, Sweetheart?"

She smiled weakly as she sat down at the small table beside her mother, her pallor evident, skin blotchy from having been vomiting. She'd never felt so terrible; for awhile there, she'd thought she was dying. "I've been better. But I think I can handle a little something now."

Dinah felt her forehead. "You poor thing, sick on Thanksgiving. I don't think you should chance eating much right now though. I'm sure you'll feel up for leftovers tomorrow at least."

"Where's Dad and Laurel?"

"Dad's watching the game, and Laurel went over to Oliver's."

Sara had bristled at that. It wasn't fair that Laurel always got what she wanted.

Her mother looked at her knowingly. "Here, Sweetheart, try a little piece of pie. Pie makes everything better," Dinah said, placing the plate in front of her and kissing the top of her head.

. . .

Sara looked around at her dinner companions. She was grateful for them, certainly, but she couldn't help but miss her family. Mom, Dad, Laurel. Those days before she messed everything up by running off with her sister's boyfriend. Before she became lost at sea and presumed dead. Before she became an assassin. Before she died and was brought back to life. Before she became a monster. Before she was a Legend.

Now the people around the table are her family. She's grateful for that, she truly is. She laughed as Jax regaled them with stories of his grandmother, and laughed even harder when Ray was oblivious as to why Nate had so many questions about his mom. It was good to laugh. They had skipped dinner at Martin's, because of the new baby and germs, they'd said. But she knew it was because they wouldn't leave her unconscious in sickbay on Thanksgiving. Martin planned on going home for a little while after Thanksgiving instead.

After dinner, she retired to her office to have a nightcap while the others went to sleep. Although the laughter had been soothing, she had been unconscious for awhile and, much like her dreams at night, it hadn't been a pleasant experience and she felt haunted still.

On her third drink, she began feeling worse not better. On a night like tonight, filled with joy and bonding after a tough mission, and a near-fatal injury, she wouldn't have been alone to wind down. She would've sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Rip's chair, soothed by his voice as he told some random story of adventure in a far off time and place as a happy distraction until they were both good and drunk.

She missed him, dammit. Missed the days that they would have been in here together, until they were both brave enough to talk about what haunted them at night.

"Gideon," she said. "Status of Rip Hunter?"

"Director Hunter is in fit physical condition, still held under house arrest by the Time Bureau at Headquarters."

"Thank you, Gideon."

She swallowed the rest of her drink, and poured another, now just hoping to numb herself before any tears came.

. . .

"Is this really necessary?" Rip asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "I'm English, we don't celebrate your colonial holidays, you do realize."

"Well, the rest of us are from the colonies, and Martin and Clarissa have invited us to dinner, so we're going. Everyone's going to be there, Jax's mom, my mom. Even Mick. You're part of this family whether you like it or not. You have to come," Sara said, looping her arm through his as they exited the Waverider. "There's a car waiting for us."

Rip sighed. "Very well, Miss Lance."

"Rip," she looked up at him. "Holidays are difficult for a lot of us, you aren't alone in that. You… aren't alone in anything anymore, you know that right?"

Rip gave her a small smile. "Am I really so transparent?"

She grinned. "Only to me. Don't worry, the others are oblivious."

He patted the hand she had on his right arm. "I appreciate your concern. It's been a difficult year for all of us, I suppose a celebration will do everyone good, even if there isn't a lot to be thankful for."

"I think, in spite of it all, there's a lot to be thankful for," she said thoughtfully.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah… yeah, there is. Despite all we've lost. All we've suffered. We're here, we're alive, and we have each other. It isn't all we wanted, but it's what we have, and I'm thankful for that."

Rip smiled at her. "Indeed."

"Oh, there's our ride!" she said, pointing out the cab.

Rip opened the door for her, and slid into the back of the car next to her. After a few moments, he reached across the seat for Sara's hand.

"Thank you, Sara," he murmured, giving it a squeeze. He didn't let go until they left the car.

. . .

"Dinner has arrived, Director Hunter. Happy Thanksgiving, Sir," the guard said, as another man wheeled in the tray.

"Thanksgiving? I don't celebrate your colonial holidays, you do understand? I'm bloody English!" he sighed with exasperation.

The guard said nothing and merely left the tray. He didn't know if he could even swallow down a bite. Just the smell of it made him homesick. How many years had it been since that night at Martin's? The laughter, the joy he felt at having a family again. Before he pushed them away, in hopes of saving them.

He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes, torturing himself with the memory. The delicious dinner, the pie for dessert, retiring for drinks in front of the fire, his arm around Sara's shoulder and her head resting against his chest as she dozed off. A "food coma," she'd called it. How conflicted he had been feeling about their recent closeness as he breathed in the smell of her, mixed with the aroma of birch wood smoke… and that blasted turkey. A poor substitute now sitting on a tray in front of him.

He should have kissed her that night, on the way back to the Waverider. He should have kissed her many times over. Then they lost their chance. Then he lost his mind, and his ship, and his place with his family. He couldn't go back to what he had, and he had to protect them from what was coming. So he left.

Five years away from them hadn't made the ache go away. It just intensified it. Now he's crossed a line he didn't think can be undone.

He finally got up, and lifted the lid from the tray. He picked at the food, quite sub-par in comparison to Clarissa Stein's cooking.

He wonders if they're all at the Steins' now, enjoying turkey, admiring their new grandchild. He wonders if he would have dared to hold the child himself. If he could have celebrated their joy without memories of Jonas threatening to drown him in sorrow. Sara would have known. She would have seen it immediately. Known to come over and with a gentle touch, given him comfort and understanding. He wishes she were there now, to be curled up beside him, whispering assurances to him. He needed assurances. He needed her.

He'll never have that again, that closeness with her. Not after his latest betrayal. He allowed the man who killed her sister to be brought back. She doesn't understand what's at stake, but even once she does, she won't thank him for what he's done. Far from it. But maybe she'll realize someday, if she survives, that it wasn't a betrayal, but the only opportunity to save them all.

She'll still hate him for it. He questions everything now, but only of that is he certain.

. . .

"Director Hunter, you have a visitor," the guard said.

Rip sighed. "Let them in."

He hadn't bothered to look up from his desk as the visitor walked in, but he shut his pocket watch in shock as she spoke.

"If you're busy, I can come back," Sara Lance said quietly, taking note of what he had been looking at. Even so, there was still a cold edge to her voice.

"Sara," he whispered. He recovered and cleared his throat, putting on a neutral expression as he placed the watch inside his desk. "What can I help you with, Captain Lance?"

She frowned. "I came for information, but first, I need to know. Do you even feel remorse for what you've done? For the lives you've cost? Do you even feel anything at all?"

Rip steeled himself for her righteous anger. "I don't have the luxury of feelings. I'm trying to protect the universe from a threat unlike any we've ever experienced. I feel remorse that you don't appreciate that threat."

"There's a threat all right. Darhk and his monster daughter just nearly killed me, again. I've been in a coma, that bitch drained the life from me. She's possessed with something terrible."

Rip felt dread in the pit of his stomach, but managed to keep his face neutral. Which only served to enrage Sara.

"Would that have even bothered you if I'd died? Mourned me? Felt guilty at least? That it would have practically been your own hands killing me again, for good this time?"

Rip seethed in hurt and anger at that. "How dare you throw that in my face! You know I would never intentionally do you harm…"

"But you did. You intentionally did the one thing that would make me suffer the most. How would you feel? To watch Vandal Savage rise from the dead?"

He shook the comparison away. "That's not fair."

"No, it's just brutal honesty. I mean it. How would you feel, Rip? To watch the monster that murdered the people you love the most, brought back by someone you trust? So he can keep killing?"

"I didn't do it to hurt anyone, least of all you."

"It's still the result."

"Sara, I'm sorry," he said, and he was. He never wanted to hurt her. He wanted to protect her. That's what all of this was about. To protect her. Because if he didn't…

"Me too, Rip," she said. "I'm sorry I ever trusted you. I'm sorry I ever…" she suppressed a sob.

Tears threatened to spill from his own eyes. "I'm so sorry I've hurt you," he whispered, longing to reach for her, to hold her, to wipe tears from her eyes again, to be able to take all of her pain away. "I hope you'll forgive me someday, but I suspect that's too much to ask."

She cleared her throat, and looked away to compose herself. "I honestly didn't come to argue, or even to get an apology. I came to gather information. I need to know what you know about Mallus."

He nodded, swallowing down his emotions. "I have something for you."

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a USB drive, a quaint early twenty-first century technology he'd been forced to utilize.

His fingers graced hers as he handed her the drive, the first physical contact they'd had in… he couldn't even remember.

"When you've neutralized the threat, and I know you will, Sara, you'll understand why I did it. You'll never forgive me, perhaps, but you'll understand."

She turned and left.